


midland line

by bokutoma



Series: music, when soft voices die [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Summer Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 09:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20794241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma
Summary: there will never be someone who gets him like byleth





	midland line

Byleth tastes like coming home.

Sylvain has never been one for sentiment, not outside the private confines of his heart, buried beneath breath and thunder, the ocean wave crash of a life long denied. With her, though, it feels all too natural, and he finds himself scribbling poetry in the margins of the notebook he carries with him everywhere he goes. It’s something close to absolution, the way his heart lights up with the knowledge of her, and he’s never craved paradise more than when she’s with him.

Before her, there was emptiness. He had done everything right, bled for all the right reasons, but the shadow of ancestors long abandoned and forgotten had hung over his shoulder, desperate and bloodthirsty. Miklan had spat obscenities at him, and his parents...the Gautiers had never been the doting type. He had friends (a best friend, really, because no one understood him like Felix), but they weren’t enough to stem the tide of emptiness that threatened to swallow him whole.

Summer had been the season of Byleth.

The Gautiers had been visiting their summer home, and he had dreaded it even as his senior year classmates had expressed their jealousy. It would have been two months without Felix, without even Ingrid or Dimitri there to provide a buffer for the insanely outdated expectations his family had for him.

Still, he had resolved to spend it like always, as far away from the house as possible. He had gone down to the beach, barefoot and unassuming, the sun baking his skin with unfathomable heat, and everything had seemed terrible.

She had been there, sunning herself on their private beach like a succubus of old, and when he had come close though to touch, close enough that sand whispered his arrival, she had looked up at him with eyes the color of the waters around them, and he had been hers.

“You’re not supposed to be here, you know,” he had said, dropping into the sand beside her. _A delinquent_, his parents would have called her, but in that moment, he hadn’t the capacity to care. “Private beach and all that.”

“Is it yours?” she had asked, and there had been something charming about how utterly inscrutable she was.

“My parents’, technically.”

That had been the first time he’d seen emotion on her face, abashed and apologetic, and when she had gotten up to leave, he had grabbed her wrist (loosely, because he didn’t want her to be afraid) and asked her to stay.

“Won’t I still be trespassing?” she had asked, her eyebrow lifting the tiniest amount.

“Not when you’re my guest.”

They had spent the summer trading bites of ice cream and stolen kisses, each one summer-sweet and sweat-slick, wonderful because they were with her and no one else. For once, the summer hadn’t been unbearable, because she had been there, warm and open and comforting if he knew how to ask.

That had been the first time Sylvain had fallen in love.

When the summer had ended, he had been devastated. He had her phone number, but Byleth, he had been certain, had her pick of partners. There was no reason for her to wait around for him.

It had been three years since that summer, and though he hadn’t seen her once in all that time, there’s no denying what he feels when he looks at her now. He’d picked her up from the airport, fresh from her graduation ceremony a continent away, and though they’d only hugged, his skin still tingles with the memory of her, bright like lightning and the mint green of her hair.

They’re speeding down the highway now, her bags tucked into the trunk of his Mercedes (his college friends _loved_ that one), and he still loves her so much he thinks he’ll burst.

They’re going to the beach house now, spending a summer together just the way they had before, and his hands are shaking from the proximity of her, the smallest of smiles on her face.

From Byleth, that means the world.

“Pull off here,” she says, gesturing at a forgotten road, barely paved and overgrown.

He does, because he trusts her, and there’s no one he’s ever wanted to impress so badly, and they come to a tucked away cliff as the sun begins to bleed into the ocean. Byleth unbuckles her seatbelt, and he’s ready to ask what she’s doing, except she’s climbed over the console and rolled into the backseat. She looks at him with an expression so inviting he’s ready to bleed out his feelings, and the only thing he can hear over the rush of blood in his ears is the _click_ of his own seatbelt.

As his lips meet hers, Sylvain feels nothing like they do in the movies, all fireworks and victory cheers. Byleth tastes like the ocean, and for the first time in forever, there’s a place that feels like home.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on twitter @kingblaiddyd


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